Chapter 28
Evie
Ibarge into Brandon’s office, dragging a puddle of rain into the room with me.
I must look like a drowned rat, but Brandon doesn’t take any notice.
In fact, he doesn’t pay me an ounce of attention as he rifles through a manila folder, as if he thinks I’m just here to return his keys.
Enraged, I march up to his desk and toss the diary onto it.
It lands on his keyboard with a bang, garnering his undivided attention.
When he sees what it is, his eyes snap to mine, and he rises from his chair. “Evie,” he says, his voice eerily calm, like this is no big deal. “I can explain.”
“Yes. Please enlighten me as to why my diary was in your car.” He rounds his desk, and I back away from him as he approaches me, his hand extended.
As if I would ever let him touch me again after learning he’s been reading my most private thoughts and feelings without my permission.
“I know you like prying into other peoples’ business—especially mine—but this? This is gross, Brandon.”
“I know this looks bad,” he defends, using that voice he reserves for quieting and calming spiraling patients.
My left eye twitches. “Does it? I hadn’t noticed.”
“But it’s not what it looks like, Evie. I promise.”
“It looks like you stole my diary!” He rolls his eyes, and that incenses me further. “This isn’t funny!”
“I didn’t say it was,” he says quickly, lifting his hands. “I’ve been trying to . . . I was intending to—” He drags a hand through his hair, messing up the meticulously styled, ink-black strands. “I’ve been trying to return it.”
My teeth gnash. “Oh? Because you finally finished it, huh? Which part did you enjoy the most? The part where we kissed for the first time, or when you finally screwed me over?” I laugh bitterly. “Literally.”
He gapes at me like I’ve just beheaded someone before his very eyes.
“How much did you read?” I ask, fighting the urge to scream.
He strides toward me, and I stumble back. “Evie, you’ve got it all wrong. I didn’t read a single word. This is all just one big misunderstanding—”
“I don’t get it,” I grind out, trying to see through the haze of my confusion and anger. “How could this possibly be a misunderstanding?”
He lets out a shaky breath and turns away, lifting his arms up over his head. He paces back and forth a few times, clasping his fingers together as he focuses on his breathing.
I feel a small pang of guilt as I watch him pace the length of the room.
When he finally faces me, he’s calm again. Ugh! A weird streak of jealousy flashes through me. I hate that he knows how to manage his emotions so well.
“Let me spell out exactly what happened so there is no room for confusion here. The morning after your car accident, when I visited you in bed, my foot hit something. I picked it up, not knowing it was your diary when I flipped it over. And then I saw my name on the page.”
My heart skips a beat. No!
He lifts his hands, sensing my spike in horror.
“I read about a paragraph before I realized it was your diary and stopped. But then you woke up, and it looked like I was reading it, so I hid it on me.” He shakes his head.
“Totally stupid. I should have just put it down, but I . . .” He groans.
“I got scared. I know what you can be like, and I thought . . . she’ll never believe me if I tell her I wasn’t reading it, and I was already on such shaky ground with you—”
I purse my lips, feeling ashamed. He looks and sounds terrified.
Am I really that unreasonable?
He takes a deep, calming breath. “Look, the rest doesn’t matter. I had every intention of putting it back as soon as I could, but I never got the chance, and it’s been sitting in my car ever since. That’s it. That’s the full story.”
I’m shaking my head. “So why was it cracked open to—” I swallow. “Why was it cracked open to the entry about you? And me? And that night?”
Judging by his audible intake of breath, Brandon knows exactly which night I’m referring to.
He sinks onto his couch and rubs his palms up and down his thighs.
“Evie,” he starts. “I . . . I can assure you that was nothing but a coincidence. I did not read your diary.” The conviction in his voice, his eyes, is undeniable.
He’s telling the truth.
Sensing that I’ve dropped my weapons, he stands.
He approaches me slowly, reaching out to cup my cheeks.
My eyes close as the warmth of his touch slips right past my defenses.
The simmering heat of my anger drains from my veins like I’m bleeding it out.
“I would never betray your trust like that,” he says, his thumbs caressing my skin. “You know that.”
My eyes open and lock with his. “But you would use me for sex.”
He sucks in a sharp breath and drops his hands. “Evie.”
Hating the warning in his tone, I meet his stunned gaze with a scowl. “Did it really mean nothing to you? That night?”
He glances over my shoulder. “We can’t talk about this right now.”
A tsunami of emotion swells up inside of me. I haven’t spoken a word about our tryst since it happened. Somehow, discussing that night out loud has brought every repressed emotion over it to the surface all at once. My body trembles so hard that my vision blurs.
He grips my shoulders and fights to make eye contact. “Baby. Please. Calm down.”
His insistence on using that pet name makes this so much worse. “So it meant nothing.”
“Of course it didn’t mean nothing. But, I—” He pauses, pursing his lips.
His hesitation says it all.
I lower my head and cover my face.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispers, his voice cracking. “I . . . I was a different person back then, and—”
What a cop out!
“How could you?” I whirl away from him, unable to look at him anymore.
My body burns. Tingles. Thrums. I wish I’d never brought this up.
I’m mortified, but I’m also heartbroken and .
. . angry. So angry. My fingers curl into fists.
“How could you!” I repeat, grabbing my diary from his desk.
Calm, cool Evie has officially left the chat, leaving some kind of crazed harpy in her wake.
Unable to control myself, I chuck the diary at the floor as hard as I can.
The spine busts against the ground, the entry that haunts me landing wide open for both of us to see.
There’s a part of me that’s hovering six feet above this situation like I’m having an out-of-body experience. That Evie knows this is a gross overreaction based on the circumstances.
But the Evie that’s in the driver’s seat?
She’s disturbed. And so overwhelmed. Years worth of repressed feelings bubble to the surface all at once; most of them unrelated to this specific moment.
My parents’ divorce, my mother’s absence, my father’s neglect, my Grandma’s declining health, my chronic lower back pain—my frustration over it all comes to a blinding head.
“You knew how I felt about you, but you did it anyway.” The words come out surprisingly calm and quiet, like the hiss of a snake.
When he doesn’t argue back, my worst fear is confirmed.
He used me. “What’s worse is you made me keep it a secret.
” I sniffle. “You were embarrassed to be with someone like me. Weren’t you? ”
“Evie!” Brandon whispers, grabbing my hand. I shake him off and back up. “No. That’s not it at all.” He steps forward, his arms spread wide like he’s trying to capture me.
I continue backing away. As far as I know, he’s in damage control mode, and he’s only acting like he cares because he doesn’t want the truth to come to light.
But it always does. One way or another.
“Don’t worry,” I spit. “Our little secret is safe with me.”
He grabs my wrist. “Evie, please,” he pleads quietly, a tear slipping down his cheek. Despite everything, my heart aches knowing I’m causing him pain. “There’s still so much we need to talk about.” He lowers his voice. “But we can’t have that conversation here. Not now.”
He still doesn’t want anyone to know about us. “Don’t worry. I’m not interested in hearing anything you have to say.”
He wipes his lone tear away. “Even after all these years, you still won’t let me explain my side of the story.”
“What is there to know?” I cry, and he winces. “You manipulated me. You used me.”
“After all the times I told you I loved you?” he grits out. “How can you think that’s what happened?”
“You lied to me,” I sneer. “You never loved me.”
His face hardens. “If you think I would do something that low, then you don’t know me at all.”
“Then where were you?” I shout. “You told me you loved me, and then you disappeared. Why? Am I not good enough for you?”
His jaw tenses. “Evie, stop.”
I grab the diary off the floor and turn to the door. “I can’t deal with this.”
Brandon’s voice is chillingly tempered as he grabs my wrist. “Don’t you dare walk out on me. I won’t chase you forever.”
I spin back around. “I never asked you to chase me!”
He steps forward, meeting fire with fire. I have never seen him so wound up, and it’s making me question . . . everything. “You didn’t give me a choice! You’ve never given me a chance to explain or redeem myself. So we’ve been running in circles ever since.”
I drop the diary and cover my ears. “Stop lying.”
He pulls my hands away from my head. “No.” Incensed, I whirl for the door, but he intercepts me.
“The only person who is lying here is you—to yourself. You know I love you, but you won’t admit it to yourself.
I don’t know why. Maybe you don’t want to believe it.
Maybe you can’t. I’m not sure which. For years, I’ve tried to have this conversation with you, but you’re always running away—”
“Stop.”
“No. Not this time. We all have our ways of coping with pain, Evie. But this isn’t healthy.”
“How I deal with pain is none of your business.”
“You have to confront the pain to heal from it,” he replies, ignoring me.
He grabs my left hand and flips it over.
My heart stops as he pushes my sleeve back.
“You might not be taking a blade to your skin anymore,” he says, rubbing his thumb across the worst of my scars.
Every scar on my body tells a story, and he knows them all.
He has counted each and every one, kissed each with a tenderness no one could fake.
He loves me. It’s undeniable.
“But pushing me away is just another way to run from the pain.”
“Stop,” I whisper, wilting.
He tugs on my hand, and I stumble forward.
His voice softens. “I won’t give up on you.
Even if there’s never an us again. That’s not what I’m asking for.
I’m only asking for a chance to help you heal.
Not just from the pain I caused you, but from the pain she caused you.
” He tilts his head, and my eyes fill with tears.
He’s referring to my mother.
“So stop trying to run away from me. Because we’ll just end up here again.”
“Stop.” My voice is so weak it’s unrecognizable.
He continues, relentless. “I love you, Evie. I did then, and I still do. I always will.”
I’m trembling like I’m about to fall apart. “Stop it.”
He smirks, but his eyes are tired. He suddenly seems . . . older. More mature. Especially as I stand here, tantruming like a child because I refuse to have a simple conversation. “We both know that’s not what you really want.”
I march forward and shove his shoulder. “I hate you!”
He grunts, clutching his heart. “I love you.”
Guilt pierces my heart. “I’m sorry,” I gasp, horrified by my own behavior as I take in the busted diary on the floor. I was already embarrassed about last night, but now this. “I don’t know why I’m like this. I don’t know why I’m so . . . so—”
Hard to love.
“You are nowhere near hard to love, Genevieve.” He brushes a piece of hair out of my face and tucks it behind my ear, offering me a smile that doesn’t quite meet his eyes.
“But sometimes, we push people away. Especially when we’re scared they’re going to leave us.
It’s a defense mechanism. A way to cope. ”
I deflate like I’m going to collapse.
“Don’t keep pushing me away, baby,” he continues in the gentlest voice, as if trying to soften the blow of his analysis. “Because believe me. You’re perfectly easy to love. It’s just that sometimes . . . you won’t let people love you.”
A tear slips down my cheek. “I let you love me. And look at us now.”
He says nothing, just buries his face in his hands. A heavy silence settles between us as I step back. Knowing there’s nothing more to say, I walk out. True to his word, he doesn’t chase me.